


Martyrdom

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1192923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk and Dave, like father, like son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Martyrdom

“I don’t know what the fuck i’m doing!”

_“sh! quiet, dirk! youll wake rose.”_

He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his volume, but continued in the same urgency, bringing the phone closer to his mouth. “This is a form of torture that wouldn’t be acceptable to the Russian mafia. It’s like reading his biography backwards. How the fuck am I supposed to raise a kid when I know he dies fighting jugga-”

_“shhh!”_

He stopped the thought and turned around to lean against the kitchen counter. Dave was in the living room, curled up in Lil’ Cal in the playpen. “I already know how bad I fuck him up.”

_“stfu. were great parents.”_

“You, maybe. I’m a royal fuck-up with a fridge full of swords and an income based on the sale of sex puppets. I don’t have a chance in hell to legally adopt a kid, so ectobiological babies falling from the sky to the rescue. He’s already eight kinds of traumatized.”

_“hell be fine.”_

“No, Roxy. He’ll be emotionally scarred and the same asshole that raised me. They all will; it’s a fucking paradox of shame. The only one a step above psych-ward is John, and that’s because he raised him-fucking-self.”

_“jake was a p good grandpa”_

Dirk bit a flap of dehydrated skin off his lip while he breathed. He had to remember to breathe. They were both quiet for a moment.

“...I know. It’s not his fault. He didn’t mean to... Y’know, sometimes I think about it and get so fucking pissed because he’s such an oblivious bastard...”

_“...was.”_

“...Was.” Breathe. “And what does that leave us with? A girl raised by a dog, a martyr with low self-esteem, and an alcoholic with horrorterrors for a soul- oh, sorry.”

The Lalonde didn’t answer.

“Shit. Sorry, Roxy. I’ll shut up.”

She sighed as the baby on her end of the call fidgeted. _“i forgib u. always do.”_

“I’m a dumbass.”

_“and a good brothder”_

He smirked lightly, the forced himself to reestablish his poker face. “I still don’t know what I’m doing, but I guess I’ll just... keep doing it.”

_“thats the spriti! er, **sripti. **spirip. fuck.”_

“Roxy,” Dirk drawled, moving the receiver to his other ear, “have you been drinking?”

_“of coursh not!”_

His brow furrowed. “Listen. I know it’s hard, and scary, ok? I know you’re not ready for this, none of us were, but we need to stay strong. We both do. I’m sure you’re a better mom sober. ...Roxy?”

The dial tone came on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“theres no fucking way im becoming a martyr for this shit.”

_“Dave, you don’t have a choice.”_ the analytical voice on the other end pressed.

“yes i do. fuck that, fuck you, and fuck this shitty plan.”

_“This is what we must do. Avoiding it will only serve to doom a timeline.”_

“step off rose, i know how that shit works a lot better than you do.”

_“I’m a Seer, Dave. I know.”_

There was a pause as the Knight slumped into his couch. “...im too young for this shit.”

_“We both are.”_

He slipped the fingertips of his left hand under his sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose; it was something he often did, now. It made him seem older, which he technically was, considering the time he had spent in loops. “hes just a kid.”

“ _He grows into a fine man. You’ve seen it.”_

“yeah a fine man alone in the middle of the ocean.” He drew in a shaky breath. “hes a martyr too...”

_“It’s a better cause than most.”_

“mine or his?”

_“Both.”_

He ran his fingers through his hair and stood, pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder. He summoned Caledscratch from his strife deck and inspected the broken blade, then willed it to full size. “hope i set a good example.”

_“Don’t worry. You do.”_

With a pop, his broken sword was gone. The Strider let the phone drop, flicking his hands out to the sides, timetables appearing. Dave ran a finger over the moving record, then scratched it, melting to a different period.

When Dirk woke up in the morning, his brother was gone, and the phone on the carpet still resonated a dial tone.

 


End file.
